


All That We Are

by esteoflorien



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: Hecate knows why the spell didn’t work, knows it the second the girl speaks the words, her voice at once full of hesitation and grit.





	All That We Are

Hecate knows why the spell didn’t work, knows it the second the girl speaks the words, her voice at once full of hesitation and grit.

For once it’s not because of the girl at all, and it is a small thing to tell her that. The softness in her voice catches her off guard, and she watches surprise flit across Mildred’s expression before she manages something of a smile. But for all that Hecate has tried to give the girl a sense of absolution, she also knows how to give an order and ensure that it is obeyed.

The door closes behind Mildred with a soft click of the latch, and she is alone with Ada. It is oppressively silent in this grey little room. She feels the weight of it most keenly when Ada is gone. Silence is the kind of thing that she despises and craves in equal measure, and only Ada knows how to fill its empty space with something other than noise.  

_By all that I see, and all that we are_ , she repeats to herself. Little girls, full of potential, grow into women who know their own minds, and Mildred is but a little girl. This is a spell for a grown woman, for a woman who knows herself and her worth and who she _is_ to another.  And Hecate knows with every certainty who she is to Ada.

She looks at the door, and contemplates locking it. If the door is warded, if they find out, she will have wasted precious moments. She leaves it unlocked. _If they come, let them come_.

Magic is laced through the very foundations of this school: the stones fairly vibrate with power that keeps the girls safe. She touches her hand to the cold flagstones, bringing the pulse of her own magic in tune with the castle’s. When she chants the incantation, she feels a rush of power unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It’s all she can do to channel it, to control it, and then Ada pushes her hands through the painting and grounds her. Ada’s hands are warm, so warm, as they grasp her like a lifeline, and Hecate readily feels Ada’s magic flowing through their hands, strengthening her.

For what is between them is _magic_ , suffused with the strength of years lived in concert with each other. Hecate has always known her own talent for witchcraft, but this is something more than discerning potions by scent. It is magic that unsettles her far more than witchcraft ever could, magic that grounds her and raises her up all at once, magic that she didn’t know she had until she met Ada. _And yet_ , Ada would say, looking at her over the rim of her glasses, _it’s nothing you haven’t always had within you._

_(Hecate Hardbroom,_ Miss Bat had exclaimed that day, in words that ricocheted violently around her head, even once she knew Ada was safe,  _after everything Ada did for you_!)

Witchcraft is second nature to her; she could no more relinquish her magic than she could the cadence of her breath. Lately, she has taken to thinking of magic as potential: capacity to do or be more, to see things that others don’t, to feel things in the  world as energy, rather than mere objects, and harness her own power to change them according to her wish. And perhaps that is at the heart of the beauty that Ada has offered her: that Ada saw something in her that she didn’t see herself,  something that she appreciates now because Ada has made her aware of it.

The cruel snickering from Gullet and Agatha cuts harshly through the web of protective magic she feels around her. _Ignore them, Hecate_ , Ada says, as clearly as she is able, _focus on the spell_ , and she does, as best she can, but she is no match for two witches, not like this, not distracted with this kind of spell. She knows she will fail before they even begin to chant.

When the spell hits her, it burns like fire, and Ada, powerless to protect her entirely, floods her with calm, as long as she can manage it. And then, they are gone, together but entirely apart, and all is darkness but for the window of the frame to the outside world. Hecate cannot bear to look.

~

Ada is the first thing she sees when they tumble out of the frame, and this time, it’s Ada who reaches out to steady her, not the other way round. She can’t find her footing after all this time - hours? days? weeks? - and to her embarrassment, she sinks to the floor, curling in on herself, her head leant against Ada’s leg. Ada is solid and strong and powerful, so powerful she’s practically crackling with it, and Hecate can’t understand how Agatha could possibly consider her weak. Ada is many things - naive, trusting, too kind for her own good - but she has never, ever, been weak.

“Oh my darling,” Ada murmurs, running her hand over her head, brushing the tendrils of hair out of her eyes. “My brave, brave girl.”

Whatever reply she might conjure rests in a lump at the back of her throat, and then it’s as if a dam breaks loose, and she feels her tears drench Ada’s stockings.

Ada shifts her weight to kneel down beside her, embracing her properly. “It’s all right, Hecate,” she says. “You’re my brave, darling girl, and it’s all right.”

“It all seemed lost,” Hecate finally manages, her head cradled against Agatha’s shoulder and her words jumbling one against the other against that infernally pink jumper.

“It did, my darling,” Ada says soothingly. “But we’ve come through it all right now, haven’t we.” It isn’t a question. “We aren’t lost, Hecate.”

“We must see to the girls,” Hecate says, after a moment, forcing herself to sit up and attend to her duty.

Ada eyes her levelly, and with a wave of her hand, Hecate feels her hair tuck itself neatly against her head once more. “So we must,” Ada agrees, and together, they stand, still holding hands. “Hecate, darling girl, who are you to me?”

They have played this game before, at night, curled against each other, with nothing between them but air, and  in those moments, it’s Ada who answers her own question: _you are my dearest, my darling, my love, my comfort_ , an ever-growing litany of words that Hecate would not, all things considered, readily attribute to herself.

Ada smiles and meets her gaze, and it is as if the world is centered on the pair of them, everything spinning round them. “Hecate, my darling girl, you are the steadying hand that moves us forward with respect for tradition. But to me, Hecate, you are all that I need.” She lifts her hand to her head and bows, formally, more than any grown witch would do for another, more than a witch of Ada’s stature has any need to. “Well met, deputy headmistress.”

_Thank you_ , like the endearments and the emotion and the tears Hecate knows will come, is something that Ada, for all her sentimentality, will save for tonight, when it is just the two of them, when there is nothing keeping them from each other. And somehow, this means just as much.

Ada is almost at the door when Hecate calls out to her. “Ada, my dear,” she says, tepidly, because she’s never said anything like this before, not in daylight, even if she’s thought it and meant it and simply been too afraid to say what they both know to be true. “Who are you to me?”

Ada tilts her head, surprise written clearly on her face. She crinkles the corner of her right eye just so, glances over her glasses, ands as always taps her fingers nervously against her leg until she remembers that fidgeting is not something she would tolerate from her girls, and clasps her hands behind her back. Hecate can’t help but smile.

“Ada, dearest, you are my home.” She lets the words hang between them for a moment, because when she says _home_ she means far more than the castle walls, and she knows Ada understands that. For _I love you_ is not something either of them says outside of the security of their rooms, not when the girls might overhear. “Well met, headmistress,” she says, mimicking Ada’s gesture.

Ada smiles broadly and reaches out for her. “Come to me, Hecate,” she says. “If needs must, we go together.” She leaves half her sentence unsaid, but Hecate knows well what she means: if Agatha is waiting, if the girls are in danger, if the school is threatened, they will fight together.

Ada links their hands as they step through the doorway, only relinquishing Hecate’s hand when she feels their feet begin to materialize on the warm grass. Hecate feels the absence of her as she always does when Ada takes a step forward in front of her. But today, there are more pressing matters to be addressed - and she knows, perfectly well, as she feels the sunlight begin to warm the back of her neck, and the girls come into view,  what they are to each other.


End file.
